


All is Fair in Love and War

by lunarella



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, As usual tbh, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, I'm pretty sure that's it for tags?, Implied Sexual Content, Keith keeps stealing Lance's shirts, Lactose Intolerant Keith (Voltron), M/M, THIS is nOT multiple chapters I made a mistake, anyway I took this down for a bit but it's back up now (:, jk but still, lance is weak, the only reason i'm still in this fandom is because that's a tag, they're in their twenties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 04:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarella/pseuds/lunarella
Summary: “I can’t do this,” Lance decides one night. “I’m going to get rid of all my shirts.”“You say that like it’s a threat,” Keith responds, imagining how the implication of Lance always walking around shirtless could possibly be bad.- - -Keith keeps stealing Lance's shirts. Lance can not deal.





	All is Fair in Love and War

**Author's Note:**

> **omg this is NOT multiple chapters idk how I made that mistake 

When Keith receives a video call request from Lance, he’s in the middle of cooking dinner for himself. Though, “cooking dinner” by Keith’s standards means heating up four hot pockets in the microwave simultaneously because his impulse control (Lance) is visiting some long-distance family in Cuba, having flown out with his immediate family a few days ago.

Figuring the hot pockets will be fine unsupervised, Keith makes his way swiftly over to his laptop where it’s open on their kitchenette table, settling himself in a chair before he accepts the call. The screen flickers to connect, and Keith is greeted with the image of Lance. It’s obvious that Lance is using his phone to call, as the camera is pointed at an awkward upward angle, showing the underside of his jaw and Keith thinks it is absolutely ridiculous that even at this angle, Lance looks beautiful. He’s not even biased because he’s a lovesick fool who thinks Lance always looks stunning, but Lance genuinely looks good considering the angle would look far less flattering for anyone lacking his sharp jawline and pronounced neck features. Keith is beyond blessed.

Noise floods through Keith’s laptop speakers upon connecting, and he can hear Lance saying something to someone beyond visual range of the camera that, even if it were quiet enough, is incomprehensible due to the fact that he’s not even speaking English at the moment. His eyes flick down to his phone, a smile brightening his face when he sees Keith's image there.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Lance greets with a toothy, white grin that has Keith contagiously smiling in return.

“Hey,” Keith replies, folding his arms over the tabletop.

“I meant to call you way earlier today, but I never got the chance,” Lance frowns, though Keith can barely make him out over all the noise.

“It’s loud,” Keith comments. Lance nods with pursed lips and raised brows, turning so that the camera is pointed on his upper body and a crowd behind him of what looks to be a bunch of Lance’s family members doing-

“Are they doing karaoke?” Keith snorts. Lance nods.

“Yep. It’s not a party until tio Roland gets drunk and whips out the karaoke machine,” Lance says with fond roll of his eyes.

“Sounds like fun,” Keith says. It comes out sounding sarcastic, but he means it. Lance’s family turned out to be a pretty accepting group of people, and his mother hadn’t so much as batted an eye when he’d introduced Keith at his boyfriend a while back. Plus, it would by far be better than being stuck home doing classwork because he had the poor luck of picking professors who subjected their students to an unforgiving workload.

Lance shrugs. “It’d be better if you were here,” he says, and it’s such a cliché thing to say but Keith knows he means it. His lips lift into a wider smile. “My mom really wanted you to visit. She misses you,” Lance mentions with a soft expression. "She's sending me back with loads of leftovers with you in mind, though," he adds. “Leftovers _I'm_ going to have to lug back over the plane with me after extra security scannings, might I add, so you better love me,” he rambles.

Keith smiles. To be honest, Keith misses Lance's mom too. Lance’s mom is such a warm and accepting presence, with enough motherly compassion in her to make Keith forget all about the period of his life where he lacked that.

“Tell her I said ‘hi' when you get the chance… _and_ that she’s the best thing that ever happened to me because she gives me food,” Keith requests.

“I give you food!” Lance complains, aghast.

“Not tres leches cake,” Keith reminds, unimpressed and no doubt butchering the pronunciation of the dessert.

“You’re lactose intolerant!” Lance reminds, raising his free hand to gesture passionately at Keith. “Do you know what tres leches is, Keith? I’ll give you a hint, it’s in the name,” he exasperates, face gleaning closer to the camera to emphasis his chastising scowl.

“I won’t die,” Keith grumps, slouching back in his chair. Leave it to Lance to be the only person who gets on Keith's case about eating too much dairy. Even his brother, Shiro, gave up after so many instances of finding Keith curled into a ball on his bed, groaning in pain because he never learns.

Lance stares into the camera critically, mouth opening like he's about to continue reprimanding Keith about his diet before it snaps shut suddenly, brows knitted together in distress as he stares, unblinking. He stares for a few seconds longer than Keith is comfortable with, face frozen in a distraught expression. Keith stares back, anxiously shifting under Lance’s intense gaze.

There’s no way Lance could possibly know that Keith currently has four hot pockets in the microwave, right? He couldn’t possibly know. _But_ … if he did know, that’s definitely the face he would make.

“What?” Keith demands when Lance continues to gawk. This seems to at least startle Lance from his stupor as he shakes his head, looking off away from the camera at what Keith assumes are his family members. From the sudden motion of the camera, Keith can tell that he’s walking now, the sound of voices and music beginning to fade as Lance travels down a hall and up a set of stairs before he’s shutting himself in a likely secluded room, the ruckus dying as Lance seals the door shut behind himself.

“ _Keith_ ,” is all he says, eyes wide as a hand raises to comb through his hair.

“ _What?”_ Keith insists, throwing his hands up in a fit of nervous impatience.

There’s a pause, and Keith can see Lance’s eyes flicking around the screen. Even though Lance is over a thousand miles away right now, Keith swears he can feel his eyes scanning along his body.

“Is that my shirt?” Lance finally asks. Keith’s expression shifts into confusion as he registers Lance’s question, his brows shooting up upon realization and his cheeks dusting a flustered pink. He looks down to verify that yes, he is wearing Lance's shirt.

He completely forgot he had put it on earlier. It wasn’t on purpose, though! He had just gotten out of the shower and he saw Lance’s shirt lying in their hamper and it looked comfortable and plus, Lance had been away for three days already and Keith kind of missed him so he put Lance’s shirt on so he’d feel less lonely and _yeah_ , _okay, fine_ , it was totally on purpose.

“Uh,” Keith muses intelligently, looking down at said shirt, fingertips tugging at the hemming. “Yeah?”

And Lance is back to staring. He stares, eyes unblinking for a concerning amount of time before he’s suddenly gone and the box on Keith’s computer screen dedicated to their call turns black after some blurred shuffling and a clatter. Keith can make out the muffled sound of Lance’s voice, saying words in a frenzied combination of what must be English and Spanish because he can’t understand half of it. Keith then processes that Lance dropped his phone in shock of his discovery, just _dropped_ it.

There’s more shuffling before the screen is lit back up with streaky, unfocused color until it settles on Lance, one hand running over his face as the other holds his phone up.

“Keith, you can’t just _do_ that,” he wheezes, dropping his hand from his face, which is flushed red all the way up to the tips of his ears. After a silent pause in which Keith evaluates the situation, a wicked smirk tugs its way onto his lips.

“What? Does it bother you?” Keith asks slyly, leaning forward to rest his chin on a hand, his eyes half lidded as he peers down at Lance's image.

“Does it— Keith, it’s— it’s, oh my god, it’s—” Lance stutters, his free hand making gestures as he struggles to articulate.

“It’s…?” Keith presses teasingly with raised brows and a smug grin. Lance purses his lips and make a frustrated noise from his throat, his hand now tangled in the hair at the base of his neck.

“It’s all the things! It’s— it’s cute and sweet and sexy? Which is totally unfair! You can’t be all three of those things at once, I can’t only properly respond to you being them one at a time!” Lance complains, cheeks darkening. “It’s not fair! You’re not allowed to just _do_ that!” he exclaims, gesturing wildly with his free hand.

“No?” Keith chuckles. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not there to jump your bones!” Lance all but screeches, his blush intensifying along with Keith’s grin, whose cheeks also color just a shade.

“What, are you bothered?” Keith asks, flashing a horribly complacent smirk that he has the audacity to try to literally bite back with his bottom lip sucked sinfully between his teeth.

Lance doesn’t even get the chance to respond before the microwave is sounding, interrupting their very interesting conversation with a high-pitched beep, surprising Keith with a subtle jolt.

“Was that the microwave?” Lance asks, and Keith rolls his eyes disappointedly, knowing their conversation is about to take a turn out of his favor. “What could you possibly be making right now? It’s nine at night,” Lance asks, conveniently forgetting about their current, much more interesting, might Keith add, conversation.

“Leftovers,” Keith lies, quick and rehearsed. Lance gives him a doubtful look, but Keith’s holds his poker face. Really, it's a shame that Lance is very practiced in Keith's mannerisms at this point, and can see through all of Keith's little facades.

“How many hot pockets do we have left, Keith?” Lance asks with exhaustion. Keith laments that the conversation took a complete 180, reverting back to Lance reprimanding his eating habits. He enjoyed their previous topic much more, and so decides now is a good time to abscond.

“Well, Lance you’re starting to break up and I think I heard someone calling you? You should probably get back to your family, alright? Bye, babe, love you,” Keith lies, longwindedly. Lance sputters.

“Don’t think we’re done with this conversation! We’re talking more about this later! About both of these things; the shirt and your awful eating habits--”

“ _Bye, love you,_ ” Keith repeats over Lance’s ranting, scrolling the mouse to hang up just as Lance manages to get out a hurried, “ _Love you too, you fucking asshole,_ ” and the call ends.

Keith stands to retrieve his (not Lance-approved) dinner from the microwave, a conniving grin on his lips.

Keith ready couldn't wait for Lance to come home, but now? He's got a little something extra to look forward to. Unfortunately for Lance, that extra something has something to do with him having double the laundry load.

#

When Lance comes back from Cuba the following Sunday, Keith is there to greet him at the airport. He’s there to greet him at the airport while wearing Lance’s jacket. Wearing Lance’s jacket in ninety-degree weather. Weather that does not in _any way_ warrant a jacket.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Lance says decidedly, stopping three feet away from Keith, his rolling bag dragging behind him. Keith smirks coyly at him.

“What? Airports are always cold,” he justifies weakly, shrugging the loose-fitting jacket tighter around himself.

“It’s not fair,” Lance states numbly, looking miserably at the jacket clinging to Keith’s body.

“Really? Because before, you said it wasn’t fair because you were a thousand miles away and couldn’t- what was it?” Keith recalls, eyes angling to the left to exaggeratedly recall their conversation before scaling back over to Lance, cunningly dark eyes meeting helplessly blue ones. “Jump my bones?” he asks quirking a brow. Lance’s frame stiffens.

“We’re leaving. Right now,” is all Lance manages to get out before he’s walking off toward the exit, a hand on Keith’s back to impatiently usher him along. Keith smirks a self-satisfied grin the whole ride to their apartment.

For all Lance's complaining, his jacket ended up being the only thing he _didn't_ want Keith taking off when they got home.

#

Keith continues to wear Lance’s shirts. It’s bearable… until it’s _not_.

Keith has been wearing his shirts to sleep, around their apartment, and even has the audacity to wear them on casual outings with their friends and Lance isn’t sure how much longer he can deal with it. It’s decidedly worse than when he had to adjust to Keith wearing yoga pants, which is something Keith just does despite Lance’s interest and isn’t even meant to rile him up. This though? This is intentional. Keith is trying for a reaction which is dangerous because Keith is stunning distraction unto himself. Lance thinks he’s something like a fire; naturally enticing and alluring, but full of unbridled potential to devour and consume and Lance is just a vulnerable moth.

Keith pulls the final straw when Lance finds him leisurely lying cross-legged on their bed as he taps at his phone, fresh out of the shower, hair damp and mussed, skin steam-kissed a rosy pink and one of Lance’s T-shirts hanging loosely from his frame, the collar just wide enough to slip and expose a pink shoulder. Lance didn’t think it was possible to choke on nothing, but lo and behold, he sure does when he finds Keith looking like _that._

“I can’t do this,” Lance decides, approaching the end of the bed. “I’m going to get rid of all my shirts.”

“You say that like it’s a threat,” Keith responds as he scrolls through his phone from his lounging position on their bed, imagining how the implication of Lance always walking around shirtless could possibly be bad.

“This,” Lance gestures fervently to the shirt currently hugging to Keith’s body, “Is actually starting to impact my health,” Lance claims, crossing his arms from where he stands at the foot of their bed. Keith drops his phone against his chest and quirks a brow at Lance in question, offering his full attention. Lance gives a pointed look.

“Let’s see; the other day, you walked into the kitchen wearing one of my shirts while I was cooking and I _literally_ burnt myself. Then, you made me stub my toe on the coffee table because you decided to stroll around wearing another one of my shirts. You made me choke on my smoothie when we were hanging out with everyone and you took off your sweater to reveal- _surprise, surprise_ \- you were wearing one of my shirts, and _now_ you’re lying in our bed in nothing but my jersey tee and briefs, Keith. My jersey tee, and _briefs_!” Lance lists, expression progressively morphing into that of a mad man’s.

“And what exactly is the complimentary damage this time, Lance?” Keith asks, obviously amused by Lance’s distress.

“ _My sanity, Keith_. My _sanity_ is the damage this time,” Lance wheezes. Keith tries, but fails to bite back a snort.

Seemingly motivated by this reaction, Lance approaches him rapidly. In response, Keith barely has time to try and prepare for whatever Lance is about to do before the taller man’s weight is being thrown upon him, forcing Keith back down against the bed.

“Babe, you’ve got to stop,” Lance begs through a dramatic sob, muffled where his face is pressed into Keith’s torso. Keith raises his hands to brace them on Lance’s shoulders. “You’re killing me,” he exaggerates.

“Okay, you’re being dramatic,” Keith informs, unimpressed, even though he’s smiling.

“You don’t get it because I can’t fit in your shirts the way you fit in mine! It makes my heart do gross flippy-floppy things,” he whines, wrapping his arms tighter around Keith’s waist. “And my _dick_ ,” he adds, poetically. Keith rolls his eyes.

“Wow, careful Shakespeare, I'm swooning," he says, dryly. "The objective is definitely to rile you up, yeah. So, you can do something about it,” Keith reminds. Lance lifts his head enough to look up at him, pulling the puppy dog eyes; Keith’s ultimate and only weakness. Well, that and dairy products.

“Yeah! But jumping your bones doesn’t make you stop being distracting, Keith,” Lance whines. “How would you feel if I started wearing your shirts all the time?” he pouts.

“Upset, because you’d stretch them out,” Keith deadpans. Lance groans.

“You’re horrible.”

“I love you.”

“You’re an asshole” he insists, grunting in frustration before he’s pushing himself up to press a kiss to Keith’s lips. Keith closes his eyes and smiles into it, smirking at Lance when he pulls away. “But I love you, too,” he says reluctantly, dropping his head against Keith’s collarbone before adding, “Especially like this, _Christ_ ,” and diving in for another, less platonic, kiss.

#

The following morning, Keith wakes up to a dissatisfying empty space beside him. It’s not unusual for Lance to be up before him, in fact, that’s how their mornings usually go; with Keith waking up to Lance either out in their small kitchenette making food or coffee, or being a sap and lying beside Keith until he’s awake. However, the lack of coffee aroma and Lance’s empty spot beside him implies that Lance is doing neither of those things.

Keith furrows his brows, eyes sleepily focused on Lance’s vacant spot on the bed before he sits up, blinking tiredly with an obnoxious, not cute, yawn. His eyes trail across the room until they catch on the bottom crack of the bathroom door, where bright light is spilling out into the morning lit room. Lance, being the energy conserving stickler that he is, would never leave an unoccupied room’s light on, so Keith immediately knows he’s in there. Give him a deerstalker hat and call him Sherlock Holmes.

Breathing deeply and exhaling slowly, Keith flops back down onto the bed, tugging the blankets back around himself. He could go back to sleep, he really could, especially when he reaches for his phone from the nightstand to look at the time and sees it’s only a quarter past eight. He grimaces. Usually he’s not awake until late nine or ten, sometimes as late as twelve. Lance kind of hates that he sleeps so late, but Keith also kind of hates that Lance is always up so damn early for no reason and occasionally leaves Keith to wake up alone because Lance has already started his day. To be fair, he knows he can’t expect Lance to actually lie in bed with him until he wakes up, but he can still be upset about it.

As he lies there, debating whether or not to leave the warm comfort of their bed or join Lance is his morning routine, he’s faintly aware of clinking and shuffling coming from the bathroom. At first, Keith thinks that he’s just tired and grumpy so the noise sounds particularly annoying. However, he groans when it becomes obvious that the noise is increasing in volume, wrapping the sheets further around himself. Figures, he decides he wants to go back to sleep as soon as it’s obvious he won’t be doing so.

“Lance, shut up!” Keith hollers when the clattering only continues to grow louder. It stops a second later, the room growing silent, almost concerningly so, considering the lack of a witty retort on Lance’s part. Keith is about to perk up and peak over when he hears the squeak of the door opening and lets out a relieved sigh.

“What were you doing in there that required you to knock every single thing off the shelf?” Keith asks, voice groggy from sleep, because that’s definitely what it sounded like. He twists around, hoisting himself up on his elbows to look at Lance and-- _oh_.

“My, how the tables have turned,” Lance says smugly, hands on his hips and Keith is struck speechless because there Lance stands, all but naked save for the navy-blue briefs he’s wearing and a jacket-- _Keith’s_ jacket, opened and exposing his abdomen and Keith is _weak_.

Suddenly Keith’s throat is uncomfortably dry, and he doesn’t realize he’s been staring until his eyes start to sting. That, or the sight before him is too radiant for him to look directly at for too long. Lance quirks a brow at him, anticipating some form of a response that isn’t Keith just staring at him.

“Not fair,” Keith voices, finally.

“What was that?” Lance asks cockily, walking closer to the bed and leaning in close to Keith’s rapidly reddening face. Keith’s heart is pounding, brain short circuiting, and he wonders if this is at all what he’s been putting Lance through the past few weeks. He feels a wave of pity and satisfaction just thinking about it.

“That’s not fair!” Keith exclaims again, jolting up to catch Lance around the shoulders. Lance’s lets out a startled squawk, expression twisting into to sudden surprise as Keith drags him down onto the bed.

“Woah, Keith!” Lance shrieks, scrambling to find purchase as Keith pulls him against his chest, tucking his face into Lance’s brown hair, arms gripping him tightly.

“You’re not allowed,” Keith mutters into Lance’s hair. Lance scoffs and pulls back, wrenching himself away until he can look at Keith, whose face is contorted in a conflicted division of frustration and pure, utter affection. Lance smirks, eyes narrowing in self-satisfaction.

“What? Are you bothered?” Lance asks, mimicking Keith’s earlier question from their video chat. Keith’s face twists into a startled scowl in response, his cheeks coloring impossibly redder. Lance laughs, shifting so that his forearms are supporting him from either side of Keith’s head. “Not so fun when it’s you on the receiving end, is it?” Lance grins. Keith’s expression is close to a pout now.

“Ugh, I get it Lance!” Keith exclaims, shoving Lance until his back is to the bed and Keith is straddling his hips. Lance attempts to gain back his footing, but Keith has always been a better wrestler than him. “I get it, alright! You’ve made your point,” Keith concedes. Beneath him, Lance is wearing the most triumphant grin, to which Keith scowls at in return.

“Not the worst thing to wake up to, though, huh?” Lance teases, doing his gross eyebrow wiggle that Keith hates because he barely knows how to raise one eyebrow.

Keith grabs a pillow and flops it over Lance’s face, a muffled _“oof”_ coming from Lance before he’s sliding the pillow away.

“I woke up to you throwing shit around in the bathroom,” Keith dismisses. Though, admittedly, Lance surprise would be nice to wake up to, he must begrudgingly agree. “What were you doing in there?” Keith asks, having never received an answer regarding the noisiness in the first place. Lance shrugs.

“I _was_ actually shaving to add to the reveal,” he explains, gesturing Keith’s jacket. “But, then I decided to be extra noisy because I wanted you to wake up faster,” Lance admits with absolutely no shame. Keith tries to look unimpressed, but can’t help the upturn of his traitorous lips. He even allows Lance to lean up and kiss said smile, feeling Lance smirk against him. The kiss is surprisingly sweet and chaste, especially taking in to consideration their positions and general lack of clothing; Keith wearing briefs and Lance’s shirt and Lance obviously not much better. Nonetheless, it leaves Keith’s head spinning.

“This means war, you know,” Keith declares as they separate, his eyes half lidded and challenging as they trail down to where his jacket is on Lance.

“I’m sure we can negotiate a treaty,” Lance insists, extending a hand to grab at one of Keith’s, pulling it to his lips to kiss the silver band on Keith’s ring finger, a complimentary one on his own. Keith holds eye contact with him, eyes fond while still maintaining a challenging glint.

“I’m sure you’d like that,” Keith huffs, snarky,

“I’ll let you have the last hot pocket,” Lance offers, because he knows this man and his horrible addiction to junk food. Keith actually thinks for a moment, considering this. Lance wishes he was surprised.

“This is only a temporary arrangement,” he accepts, lifting himself off of Lance, who furrows his brows in confusion as Keith begins to walk out of their room.

“Wait, we’re not gonna-”

“Nope. Food first, I’m hungry.” Lance stares in his wake, can’t even be upset because it’s kind of hilariously ridiculous that Keith just chose a hot pocket over sex with his fiancé.

Eventually, Lance just sighs and follows Keith out, where he might accidentally end up distracting Keith in not so pure ways, long enough for him to accidentally burn and ruin his breakfast. Lance laughs out an apology, much to Keith’s dismay before helping him make an actual breakfast.

They look ridiculous, with Lance in nothing but briefs and Keith’s jacket, and Keith in Lance’s shirt, but if things like this aren’t exactly why they’re engaged, Lance doesn’t know what is.

Even though, starting today, they are officially at war with each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a klance fic or a hot pocket advertisement idea idk  
> I hope you guys liked the little surprise at the end! I'm such a fucking sap. 
> 
> Also, for those of you who don't know, tres leche cake is a sponge cake soaked in three different milks and it's super sweet and delicious and horrible for you if you're lactose intolerant but who is that actually stopping. I am right there with Keith, eating stuff I'm not supposed to. 
> 
> Anyway! Shout out to the anon who requested this one!  
> Tell me what you all think in the comments
> 
> Follow my writing [ Tumblr](https://litaluna.tumblr.com/)  
> And I recently made a [Ko-fi ](https://ko-fi.com/M4M3FYPJ)
> 
> *** I know I deleted this for a bit, the reason being is because I originally accidentally posted it instead of saving it as a draft, but I figured it would be fine so I kept it up for a bit. But then I started getting self conscious because I felt like I hadn't edited it enough so I took it down. ):  
> It's back now though!


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